“A lice in a lady’s hair”

Upon a crown of chestnut curls, so fine and rich and rare,  
A tiny pilgrim set his course—a louse with dreams to dare.  
He wandered through each wispy wave, a minuscule buccaneer,  
Charting a world of perfumed springs, so far from home, yet near.

The lady strolled in morning sun, her bonnet trimmed with blue,  
Unknowing of the guest she bore, beneath the sky’s bright hue.  
While through those silky passages, the adventurer treaded light,  
A shy, unseen, intrepid thing concealed from human sight.

He built his castle near the nape, amid the roots so deep,  
Dancing between every strand as if upon a sweep.  
His kingdom thrived, unseen, unmet, by scratching hand or comb,  
A secret kept within those locks that he could call his home.

But soon her brush—a thunder rolled—disturbed the tranquil sea,  
He scrambled, tumbled, caught adrift from high to low degree.  
Her laughter rang, a battle cry; the war would soon be won,  
For every journey—even his—must one day be undone.

So here’s a tale of courage small, of kingdoms in the air,  
Of hidden lives and tiny dreams in a lady’s woven hair.  
And though the louse’s legend fades with one well-timed shampoo,  
The memory of wild, wondrous quests, must live a rhyme or two!

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